22 



THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 



tioiij witli scores of tints and types of tree-form around. It 

 is spring, and tlie whole scene is animated by tlie cheerful 

 flush of bloom of the many shrubs that burst into blossom 

 with the strengthening sun, and while the oaks are yet leaf- 

 less the large swollen flower-buds of the splendid deciduous 

 Magnolias may be seen conspicuous at long distances through 

 the other trees. In autumn the variety and richness of the 

 tints of the foliage offer a varied picture from week to week ; 

 and in winter the many picturesque and graceful forms of 

 the deciduous trees among the evergreen shrubs and pines 

 offer the observant eye as much interest as at any other 

 season. 



Looking deeper than the immediate results, we may see 

 how the adoption of the system of careful permanent plant- 

 ing enables us to secure what I consider the most important 

 point in the whole art of gardening — variety, and that of 

 the noblest kind. Mr, Ruskin tells us that " change or 

 variety is as much a necessity to the human heart in build- 

 ings as in books; that there is no merit, though there is 

 some occasional use, in monotony; and that we must no 

 more expect to derive either pleasure or profit from an 

 architecture whose ornaments are of one pattern, and whose 

 pillars are of one proportion, than we should out of a uni- 

 verse in which the clouds were all of one shape and the 

 trees all of one size.'''' These words apply to public gardens 

 with even greater force. In them we need not be tied by 

 the formalism which comfort, convenience, and economy 

 require the architect to bear in mind, no matter how widely 

 he diverges from the commonplace in general design. In 

 garden or in park there is practically no noticeable tie ; in 

 buildings there are many. Vegetation varies every day in 

 the year. In buildings more than on any other things 

 unchangeableness is stamped. In the tree and plant world 

 we deal with things by no means remotely allied to our- 

 selves — their lives, from the unfolding bud to the tottering 

 trunk, are as the lives of men. In the building we deal 

 with things much less mutable, which have a beginning 

 and ending like all others, but their changes are much less 

 apparent to our narrow vision. Therefore the opportunity 



